Pulau Kangor
by beyondthesea1
Summary: The quest for a rare plant brings unexpected danger and tragedy.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This fic previously appeared on Uncharted Waters and is based on a Marcus Welby episode called, "A Full Life" in which Richard Basehart guest-starred as Professor Andy Kirkcastle._

_A very special thank you to Nancy O. who provided some invaluable information that really brought this whole thing together, and to my long-suffering beta's. Liz, this one's for you._

**Pulau Kangor**

**Pulau Kangor:** **Dusk**

Admiral Harriman Nelson opened both eyes and stared hard at the blurred, yellowish shadows on the darkened wall in front of him. Trying to jar his sluggish, muddled mind back into some kind of lucidity, feeling a rise of panic as he failed to recognize his cold, dimly lit surroundings, he wished he could recall something, anything, to fill the void in his memory.

Swallowing hard against the dryness in his throat, pain abruptly wrenching his thoughts into clarity, he lifted his hand away from his right side and looked with clouded confusion at the sticky wetness that covered his palm and fingers.

Clenching his hand into a fist, he slowly lowered his arm to the ground. He remembered the sound of gunshots…

_Lee was in front, leading the way through the jungle and away from the BioMed camp and the half dozen or so men coming fast on their heels. Semi-automatic fire whizzed past them, hitting the brush, shattering branches and sending the splintered wood in every direction. Gunfire echoed off the dense canopy and Jenkins, the young crewman from Nebraska, fell to the ground with a terrified cry. It had been nothing more than a reflexive action to pick the man up and hoist him over his shoulder. The weight nearly toppled him but once he found his balance, adrenaline kicked in and carried him forward. _

_He saw the ground kick up around him and felt the sharp sting low in his back. He knew he had been hit but still he pushed himself. The rush of adrenaline had long since worn off and now the weight, the pain and the exhaustion were unbearable. He was concentrating hard, trying to keep up with the flashes of khaki up ahead, not looking down and yet, trying desperately to pick up his feet. And then he stumbled…_

The crackle of a small fire caught his attention and momentarily dragged him back to the present. Lee, Sharkey, Jenkins, what had become of them? Were they still alive?

For a moment the unnerving thought that he had been captured by the enemy flashed through his mind however, given that they had been trying their damndest to kill him, he quickly dismissed the idea. Wherever he was, he was amongst friends.

With a great deal of effort and determination he pushed himself into an awkward and extremely uncomfortable sitting position then, after the waves of nausea and pain had subsided to a level more tolerable, brought his legs around and leaned against the coolness of the rock wall. The damp granite stone permeated his shirt and felt good against his skin. Closing his eyes, surrendering to the pervasive weariness, he drifted into a restless sleep.

_It was an ordinary mission; nothing more than a visit to an old friend's botanical research camp. But when they got to the site, when they saw the men…_

The vision of Professor Andrew Kirkcastle's mutilated body flashed through Nelson's mind, jolting him awake. But even awake, the images persisted, gripping him in a cold sweat and rising sickness that he could no longer contain. Turning his body quickly, ignoring the protests of pain, he heaved the modest contents of his stomach.

"Easy, sir."

Nelson felt a supporting hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Chief Sharkey at his side.

"Take a few sips of this," Sharkey said, lifting the canteen to Nelson's mouth and still supporting his shoulder as he drank.

"Thanks, chief," he said, the words coming with labored effort. Although the nausea had eased, the water did little to quell the encroaching darkness.

Sharkey was there to catch him as he pitched forward.

Gently lowering the unconscious Admiral onto the ground, he peeled away the discolored dressing, wrinkling his nose as he tossed it aside. He didn't like the looks of the wound and was even more concerned with the lack of any kind of sterilizing agent. He had tried to flush out the area with water but knew that was nothing more than a stopgap. They were in a jungle; the place was teeming with all kinds of nasty bacteria. It was only a matter of time before infection set in—if it hadn't already.

Where was Captain Crane? Taking a seat next to the fire, Sharkey's eyes darted between the cave's opening and the Admiral. He didn't like this. Not one bit.

~ooOoo~

Lee Crane peeked through the cover of the heavy foliage, trying not to make a sound as six armed men walked right by his hiding place. Waiting until they were completely past them, he moved aside the fern fronds and crept forward using his elbows and knees to carry him.

He needed to get to someplace high where he could get a better look at the camp and the men who occupied it, but most of the trees he spied were well out of his climbing range. Growing up as a city kid, living in a house without a yard and few trees, he hadn't much practice climbing trees. But just as they always had, drive and determination would get him where he wanted to go.

Using a sturdy vine that had wound its way around the trunk, he pulled himself up as quietly yet as swiftly as possible. Looking up into the tree's broad branches, he could see two places where his ascent might be exposed should that recon party return or a few stragglers wander away from the camp.

He'd have to move quickly.

~ooOoo~

Sharkey was still beside the Admiral, tearing what was once a T-shirt into long strips when he came around.

For a moment Nelson was lost again, uncertain of his surroundings or the events that had taken place. Then he remembered a name and a face. "Jenkins?" He lifted his head and tried to look around, giving up when the effort became too much. "Is he all right?"

"You need to lay still, sir. You opened up the wound and it's bleeding again."

"Chief, is he all right?" He was nearly pleading now.

Sharkey looked away for only an instant but it was enough. Nelson didn't have to ask again.

"He was just a boy," he said quietly.

"He saved your life."

Nelson didn't understand. He was carrying Jenkins; how could the crewman have saved his life?

Sharkey saw the confused expression and tried to explain. "The bullet that hit you went through him first. If you hadn't been carrying him…"

Regret quickly became a flash of anger. "If I hadn't been carrying him, he might still be alive."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but if you hadn't been carrying him, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. Besides," Sharkey paused and looked away. He had to tell him; the guilt would have been far worse than the pain. "He was dead before then."

Nelson felt sick again but this time it had nothing to do with the hole in his side.

Sharkey squinted in the dim lighting to get a quick, satisfied look at the entrance wound in the Admiral's back and then used the long, cloth strips to secure the second bandage in place. "Doc will probably have kittens when he sees this but it's the best I can do."

"How bad is it?"

The Chief was thoughtful for a minute as he decided which version to give him. He hadn't pulled any punches so far; he might as well not start now. Besides, he never could lie convincingly to the Admiral. "It could be worse but given our circumstances, bad enough. The bullet went in and out but I'm betting you got a busted rib or two and maybe a damaged kidney."

Feeling the sharp grating low in his side, Nelson could confirm the chief's conjecture about his broken rib however the pain in his back was so acute he couldn't tell if it was from the kidney, the entrance wound or a combination of both.

Sharkey helped him slip his shirt back on but left it open. "You're gonna have one doozy of an infection it we don't…" His sentence was cut short by a noise behind him. Grabbing the pistol and wheeling around, he squinted into the shadows. Seeing and hearing nothing more, he turned his attention back to the injured man. "I must be getting jumpy in my old age."

Nelson's slightly amused look quickly faded as he noticed the dark blotches of dried blood on Sharkey's grungy khaki uniform. "Are you all right?"

"Who me?" The Chief grinned sheepishly, almost embarrassed at the concern shown to him by a senior officer. "I'm fine."

It occurred to the Admiral a few moments later, after Sharkey had taken up sentry duty near the mouth of the cave, that it was most likely his blood on the COB's uniform. He had a vague memory of someone hauling him down the overgrown path. The thought momentarily alleviated the pain and guilt.

Chief Francis Sharkey was loyal to the core. Nelson had known many COB's in his long career but none held a candle to Sharkey. Yes, he could try the patience of the Pope but in a fight, Sharkey would always be the first man Nelson chose to cover his backside. This wasn't the first time the Chief had hauled Nelson's rear-end out of the fire; he doubted it would be the last.

_If we get out of here…_

Using his left arm as leverage, cringing at the brief but intense stab of pain, Nelson once again forced himself into a sitting position. Resting against the hard surface, he looked around the dimly lit cave.

It was an odd-shaped cavern, almost triangular in shape and probably taller than it was wide or deep, with an opening protected by several large boulders. Squinting to see the odd formation, Nelson surmised that this really wasn't a true cave at all—just a covered opening formed from falling rock and dirt during one of the many earthquakes these small islands had suffered over the years. He also guessed that it probably wasn't the safest place for them to stay but hopefully, they wouldn't be here very long. He spent several more minutes mesmerized by the yellow and orange flames of the makeshift fire, watching as a small, thin line of smoke trickled upwards towards one of the fissures in the rough formation when it occurred to him.

"Chief, where's Captain Crane?"

"The skipper? He went out to do a little recon."

Had Sharkey not turned his attention back to the entrance of the cave, he would have seen the deepening frown on Nelson's face.

~ooOoo~

Crane was frozen in place, silently watching as two men stood below him, their automatic weapons pointed toward the sky, toward him.

He had tried to gain a better view into the camp and was inching his way across a sturdy, overhanging branch when he had heard voices. He didn't see them until he was almost directly overhead and in plain sight had they looked up.

Something rustled above his head, causing him to quickly look up. He wasn't alone in the tree. Large, bright eyes stared back at him then unimpressed, disappeared into the dark canopy.

Taking a firm hold on the thick branch, Lee repositioned his left foot, bringing it over just enough to give him the cover of a wide swathe of broad leaves and dangling vines. Realizing that the right side of his body was still exposed, he quickly brought his right leg over, his foot snapping an offshoot in the process. Cringing at the loud crack, he watched in horror as leaves and twigs broke free and fell, landing on the men below. Closing his eyes, bracing himself for the ensuing gunfire, he could only think of how he had failed the Admiral and Chief Sharkey.

**SSRN **_**Seaview**_**: 500 miles southwest of Wake Island, 2200 hours**

Commander Chip Morton stood by the radio, his fingers drumming impatiently on the metal casing. "Anything?"

"Nothing, sir. All I get is static. They could be out of range. They only took the handhelds and those were working when they got to the island." Sparks looked up at the Exec and shrugged. He didn't know what else to tell the man.

Chip's lips tightened into a frown. Sparks was right. Lee had radioed in once they landed on the tiny island but that call nearly eight hours ago had been the last they had heard from the men.

Ordinarily, the Exec wouldn't have been worried. It was a diversion for the Admiral; a chance for him to visit an old friend who just happened to be in the 'neighborhood'. It wasn't until _Seaview_ received a call from BioMed, the pharmaceutical company sponsoring the expedition, that Chip became concerned.

Kate Tannehill, Professor Kirkcastle's companion, was accustomed to radio silence from the doctor; he often went a day or so before checking in. However, at 73 Andrew Kirkcastle wasn't a young man and almost two years ago, after an expedition in Malaysia, he had nearly died from Black Water Fever. Although he made a complete recovery and left for an expedition to the Caquet and the Putumayo rivers two weeks later, the illness seemed to have reduced the effectiveness of chloroquine, the medication he took for malaria. Before he left, Tannehill had insisted he call in every day. For the first few days, he had abided by her wishes but in the last 24 hours there had been no transmission and every attempt by Dr. Haskins at BioMed had been met with dead air.

And now _Seaview_ had lost contact with Lee and the Admiral.

"Mr. Morton?" Lt. Bob O'Brien asked tentatively.

Chip looked up to find all eyes in the control room upon him.

"What would you like to do?"

_Seaview_ was roughly 1,100 nautical miles from the island. They could be just off the coast in a little over 18 hours. If he was wrong and everything was fine, then he'd happily take the ribbing from Lee and the Admiral.

"Set a course for Pulau Kangor."

"Setting a course for Pulau Kangor," O'Brien repeated.

**Pulau Kangor: 0230**

Birds and marsupials began their hysterical chatter in response to the shattering noise as bullets sliced wildly through nearby branches and leaves. Crane flinched as something stung his right arm but he didn't panic. He could hear their shouts and laughter and quickly realized they weren't aiming for him. After several more errant shots, the men moved off, content that the culprit was nothing more than one of the many jungle tree dwellers.

Crane breathed a temporary sigh of relief and tried to examine the tear in his shirt sleeve. His fingers were damp with blood and his upper arm felt like it was on fire but as near as he could tell, the wound wasn't too bad. Flexing his arm against the soreness, he repositioned himself for another look.

He couldn't see anyone now but off in the distance he could hear the multiple whine of motors—speedboats most likely. Either they were just returning from a raid or they were on their way out. Judging from the celebratory shouts, they were just returning. He thought about making his way back to the cave but the voices were getting louder. In just a few minutes the camp would be swarming with men. He couldn't risk getting caught now.

He could see them, carrying large crates past the tents then gathering around the fire, laughing and taking long swigs from glass bottles. Another man came into view, this one obviously their leader judging by the way he barked orders. Lee couldn't make out the insignias on the tattered officer's jacket he wore but he could make out the captain's stripes.

The man turned around giving Lee a good look at his face, at the red bandana he wore around his neck. He had seen something like that once before but he couldn't recall where.

The men were drinking heavily now, celebrating their latest raid, no doubt. Hopefully, they would drink themselves into a stupor and pass out. At the rate they were going, it wouldn't be long.

With nothing else to see, Lee leaned his back against the thick trunk and settled in to wait. With the noise of the men blending with the jungle sounds, Lee found himself alone with nothing else but his thoughts. He knew Jenkins was dead and Nelson was badly hurt. He regretted leaving Sharkey on his own to tend to the Admiral but he just couldn't sit by and allow the guilt to suffocate him. He had to do something. He had to know what they were up against and if there was a way back to the Flying Sub; he had to find food, water and weapons.

So far though, he hadn't been very successful. He still didn't know who these men were or what they wanted with Professor Kirkcastle's camp and although he had found some very green bananas and a few berries, he hadn't come across any fresh water. Even if he did, he hadn't anything to carry it in. They had one full and one nearly empty canteen but he had left both of them with Sharkey.

Closing his eyes, feeling the pangs of guilt slowly closing in, he tried to put the events of the last few hours out of his mind. He had to stay focused.

Checking his watch, seeing that an hour had passed, Lee felt restless. In the dim light of the campfire he could just see the entrance to the main tent and the motionless bodies lying on the ground outside. Taking a chance that the men were asleep, he carefully inched his way down the tree. Midway down, he froze. _Voices_. The recon party was on its way back.

_Shit!_

He was trapped. In the time it would take to climb back up they would see him for sure; if he kept descending, he would fall right into their lap. Thinking quickly, he could only see one option: let go now, drop the ten or so feet and then, if he didn't break anything in the fall, hope that he could run for cover before they got any closer. He could clearly hear their voices now; he didn't have much time.

Coming to an abrupt decision, he let go.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Sharkey saw a flash of khaki in the brush near the cave entrance and took up a defensive firing position.

Seconds later, Lee Crane crawled along the narrow ledge on his belly, standing only when he reached the cover of the large, jutting rocks that protected the opening.

"Skipper, am I glad to see you!" Sharkey saw the dark red stain on Crane's shirt and gave the officer a scrutinizing look. "Are you hurt?"

Lee looked at his bloodied sleeve. He had landed on his injured arm during his fall and it had hurt like hell but now it had settled into a dull ache. "It's just a nick. Have you had any trouble?"

Sharkey led Crane towards the light of the fire then ripped open the officer's sleeve to get a better look at the wound and scowled. It wasn't 'just a nick' but as far as he could tell, it had missed the bone. He'd have to look again in the morning, when the light was better. Still, it would require a good cleaning and some kind of dressing to stave off infection.

As Sharkey wrapped a makeshift bandage around Crane's arm, he said in a low voice, "It's been quiet since you left but that's what has me spooked. I can't see nothing out there. I feel like Custer before the Indians attacked."

"Well, relax, there aren't as many of them as there were Sioux and Cheyenne and they attacked during the day anyway."

"Sir, there aren't as many of us as there were 7th Calvary. Somehow I think the odds are about the same though."

Lee flexed his arm, wincing at the pain. "How's the Admiral?"

Sharkey's expression turned neutral. "All things considered, better than I thought but he's got a low grade fever that's only gonna get worse."

"How much worse?"

"One of us might be sitting on him this time tomorrow."

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Yeah, you and me both," Sharkey said, painfully recalling the bruised jaw he had received the last time he tried to do just that.

Lee ran his hand over his chin, his fingers scratching at the rough stubble. He knew they couldn't stay in one place very long. Although the cave did offer some protection from the elements and the enemy, that was where their luck seemed to run dry. They had a few unripe bananas and a pocketful of berries, one remaining canteen of fresh water, one possibly broken radio and very little firepower.

_If we could only get a message to Seaview…_

They could wait until nightfall, risk trying to get back to the coast and pray that the radio worked long enough for _Seaview_ to pick up their transmission but that would be dangerous even with three healthy men. However, one man might make it…

Remembering the small amount of food he had found in the darkness, he reached into his pocket and extricated the handful of squashed, dirt-covered berries and a very green mashed banana. Holding them out to Sharkey, he said apologetically, "It's not much but it's something."

Sharkey looked at the officer and smiled. He was hungry but not that hungry. "Uh, that's okay, skipper. Maybe the Admiral will eat them. He needs them more than me."

"You're probably right." Lee dropped the fruit into his pocket and glanced towards the back of the cave. "You okay here?"

Sharkey nodded, watching as Crane moved past him.

Nelson was sitting with his back against the granite wall, his shirt open to reveal the crude bandage covering his right side. His eyes were closed but the ragged breathing and occasional grimace gave away any notion that he was truly asleep.

Lee approached quietly and knelt down in front of the man, his hand reaching out to look at the wound.

"Any idea who they are?" Nelson asked, not opening his eyes but instinctively knowing who was in front of him.

"Drug runners, pirates, take your pick. These waters are full of both. I saw a speedboat near the area where we came ashore and heard a couple more arrive during the night. They look fairly organized and seem to take their orders from one particularly nasty looking guy. I counted twenty heavily armed men near the camp but there could easily be more crawling around out there or coming ashore on boats."

Nelson opened his eyes at this news, alarmed more by the fact that Lee had ventured so close to the enemy than by how much they were outnumbered.

Lee pulled an automatic from his belt and a clip from his shirt pocket. "I back-tracked a little to where we left Jenkins. His sidearm and canteen were gone but I found an extra clip."

Nelson leveled a glare at the Captain. "It's a good thing they didn't back track too."

Lee couldn't meet the Admiral's piercing gaze. Even wounded the man managed to be imposing. "Yes, it is," he answered after a long pause, tensing at what might come next and thankful he hadn't mentioned the tree.

Noticing the slight smile playing at one corner of the Admiral's mouth, Lee relaxed. The Admiral had done his commanding duty and admonished him for taking the risk; now he was conceding that it was the right thing to do. Had the roles been reversed, Lee had no doubt he'd be the one rebuking Nelson for taking the same risk.

Nelson closed his eyes momentarily, and then opened them again. The pain and weariness were wreaking havoc on his ability to concentrate. "Any idea what they might be after?"

Lee took a seat on the hard surface. "I was hoping you might be able to tell me."

"I can't think of anything of value they might have had. It was mostly notes and supplies for cataloging plant species."

"You said Professor Kirkcastle was a pharmacognosist and that this was a pharmacological expedition. Could that be significant?"

Nelson shook his head. "I doubt it. They were specifically interested in Croton erythrochilus, a plant species very similar to Croton lechleri or Sangre de Drago found in the Peruvian Amazon. Andy suspected it might not be indigenous to the Amazon so he was very excited when it was rumored to be on these small islands."

"What is this Sangre de Drago? What does it do?"

"Dragon's blood. If I can correctly recall what Andy told me, it has very potent anti-bacterial activity that could be effective in healing some types of infections that are resistant to our common antibiotics. I'm sure that's why David Llewelyn and Iain Bowman were here."

"Who were they?"

Nelson winced almost imperceptibly at Lee's use of the past tense. "David was a phytochemist and Iain was a pathologist with a special interest in plant-derived drugs. If we had their notes, we might know more. Still, I just can't imagine doing what they did to those men over something as menial as a plant. None of this makes any sense."

"If they are drug runners," Lee began, watching as the Admiral clenched and unclenched his right hand, "you don't suppose they might have some sort of interest in this Croton whatever it was?"

Nelson didn't hear the question. As much as he tried, he just couldn't get the last vision of Andy out of his head. He doubted he ever would.

Harriman Nelson had known Andrew Kirkcastle for as long as he could remember. Whenever he wasn't away on some expedition, Andy had always been something of a fixture at the Nelson home, so much so that young Harriman had assumed he _was_ family. He could still recall the disappointment he felt when his mother had informed him that "uncle" Andy wasn't really an uncle at all—just a close friend of his father's. Andy had easily been more like a father to young Harriman than the elder Nelson had ever been.

It had been Andy who recognized that young Harriman's academic "laziness" was actually boredom and that the inattentive, misguided boy demonstrated a truly extraordinary aptitude in science and math. Andy had fostered Nelson's scientific curiosity, encouraged his sense of adventure and guided all that unfettered, unfocused drive and energy into a Nobel Prize winning marine biologist and 4-star admiral.

Closing his eyes on the past, opening them on the present, he became acutely aware of Lee's worried expression.

"Admiral, are you okay?"

"Huh?" His sluggish mind took a few seconds to recall that they had been in the middle of a conversation.

"Are you okay? You drifted off."

Nelson brought a shaking hand up to rub his temple. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Seeing the anguish on the other man's face, Lee's original question didn't seem to matter now. "Professor Kirkcastle was a good friend, wasn't he?"

The Admiral looked up but focused on something away from the Captain. "He was a family friend," he answered in a tight voice.

Nelson's attempt at an iron façade didn't fool Lee for a second. It never did. Lee could see that the pain went much deeper than just physical and one day, when the Admiral felt more like talking, perhaps he'd tell him more about Andrew Kirkcastle. However, for now all Lee could think to say was, "I'm sorry." Somehow, though, it didn't seem like enough.

To Nelson it was. Something in those simple words struck a chord with him; something made the guilt a little more unbearable. And he knew why. Lee shouldn't have been there. It wasn't the captain's place to accompany an admiral on a simple visit but he wanted Lee to come along. If he hadn't been so insistent, Lee wouldn't be in this mess now.

Still, "thanks," was all he could manage. Anything more and the words would have caught in his throat. Deep down, Nelson knew he should be the one apologizing to Lee.

Nelson shifted his weight off his right leg and immediately sucked in air as a stab of pain shot up his back.

Noticing his distress, Lee put a supporting hand on the Admiral's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Nelson put up his hand and slowly shook his head. "I moved wrong. It's nothing."

Crane saw the tightly balled first and knew he was lying. It wasn't 'nothing' but the Admiral wasn't going to admit it and he wasn't going to press it.

"This plant you mentioned, is it a drug?" It was an empty question. Lee really didn't care at this point; he only wanted to keep his friend focused on something other than Professor Kirkcastle, Jenkins or the discomfort he was obviously in. Keeping his mind searching for answers seemed to be the most logical way.

"It's not a narcotic, if that's what you mean." As an afterthought he added, "It's a kind of tree that produces…" Finding it very difficult to think with any kind of clarity, Nelson paused and closed his eyes opening them a moment later as he finished his thought, "a blood-red sap that could have some benefit to medicine." Closing his eyes again, he slowly rubbed his forehead as he continued. "It's all meaningless conjecture at this point."

Lee noticed the faltering thought process from the normally acutely sharp mind and knew Nelson was nearly spent. He also knew the man wasn't going to last much longer if they didn't get him back to _Seaview_ soon.

Glancing towards the cave opening, seeing the ever-dependable Chief Sharkey maintaining a diligent watch, Lee's shoulders slumped. Guilt and responsibility were heavy burdens to carry and right now, Lee Crane felt like he was suffocating under the weight. Rubbing his hand through his dark hair then scratching the back of his head, he mentally reproached himself. He had to do something but what?

With a shallow reef surrounding the waters on the windward side of the island and closest to Kirkcastle's camp, both the Admiral and Lee had decided not to bring the Flying Sub in too close. Instead they had left the small craft on the surface a quarter mile out and rowed their way ashore in one of the rafts.

With a hostile enemy now inhabiting that side of the island and with the speedboats Lee thought he heard earlier, he seriously doubted they could get back to FS-1. Even if they could get to the water without being seen, they stood little chance of getting back to the craft without a raft or a boat. He knew from experience that these waters were full of sharks.

Who was he fooling, he thought, picking up a few sticks and tossing them onto the fire. Glancing at the fevered man across from him, he knew that in all probability the Admiral wasn't going to walk out of here on his own. He also knew they couldn't stay in the cave much longer.

Although the fire had been necessary for light, he knew that eventually, the pirates would smell the smoke. It was only a matter of time before they were discovered and with their limited resources, they wouldn't stand a chance.

Their only real hope was that Chip and _Seaview's_ crew could get to them first but with no way to contact them, he didn't feel optimistic.

Maybe, he thought, an idea forming in his mind, they could wait until nightfall, risk the journey to the beach and pray the radio worked long enough for _Seaview_ to pick up the transmission.

Nelson muttered something incoherent, breaking Lee's thoughts and causing him to look over. The older man was dozing, his head resting against the rock wall, eyelids twitching in response to some nightmarish dream, no doubt.

No, he thought, it would be dangerous even with three healthy men.

Feeling the ache of tense muscles, Lee took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. With no food or sleep, he had been running on fumes for the last few hours. Now it all seemed to be catching up with him. Closing his eyes for just a moment, he tried to catch a few minute's sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. As tired as he was, his thoughts kept racing.

It was his fault. He should have been the one bringing up the rear; he should have stopped when they had come under machine gun fire but instead he kept running. It wasn't fear that motivated him. He knew they had to find cover. That's why he kept going. At least that's what he told himself. Now, looking back, replaying the events over and over, he was casting doubts on his actions.

Rubbing his eyes, running his fingers through his hair, he glanced over at the Admiral.

Nelson was fighting his own demons; he wasn't going to be able to give him the answers this time. No, the responsibility was solely upon his shoulders. It wasn't the first time. He was the Captain; he was the leader of men. He had to find a way out.

He started to get up when he realized the Admiral was now awake and watching him, the expression on his face one of what? Regret?

The short, fitful sleep left Nelson feeling drained; it also made him realize there was something he had to say. "Lee, I need to apologize."

"What for?"

"Getting you into this. If I hadn't been so insistent that you meet Andy, you wouldn't be here."

"Admiral, you asked me to come along to meet your friend and I agreed. You had no idea what we were walking into."

Nelson didn't argue. He was searching for a reason to blame himself but Crane wouldn't give it to him. No chance for a little self-pity now but at least he had exorcised one of his demons.

Noticing the bandage on Lee's arm, he asked, "What happened?"

Crane followed Nelson's gaze to his arm. "They mistook me for a monkey."

Nelson raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Crane managed a tired smile. "It's a long story. I'll tell it to you over a couple of beers when we get back."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Crane closed his eyes and brought one leg up. "You're buying."

"Deal," Nelson replied, immediately wondering if in fact he'd be around to buy that beer. Harriman Nelson was an optimistic man. Even with the odds against him, he never gave up, always searching for another way, another solution. But this time he found it hard to be optimistic. Realistic was more like it.

He knew the score. He was hurt, how bad he couldn't be certain, but bad enough. Worse though, he was running a fever. The bullet wound might not kill him but the infection certainly would. Sharkey and Lee might stand a chance but with him along, he was nothing more than baggage. Unfortunately, no matter how much he argued, he knew neither Lee nor Sharkey would ever leave him behind. Captain Crane's unfailing sense of responsibility and Chief Sharkey's loyalty wouldn't let them.

Watching as Crane fought to stay awake and then finally succumbed, Nelson thought about that unfailing responsibility and how much he had come to depend upon it. Lee Crane was his conscience, the balance that kept him in check. Nelson wasn't blind to his own faults. He was a risk taker, a visionary and occasionally, he knew he needed someone more grounded, more cautious, to reel him in. John Phillips had been a great friend and an excellent skipper but he rarely challenged Nelson; Lee never hesitated. It was a quality Nelson truly admired in _Seaview's_ Captain.

Glancing over at the cave entrance, Nelson saw Sharkey leaning on the rocks, keeping watch over the two officers. He knew the Chief had to be exhausted as well but he'd never admit it. Chief Curly Jones had been a good man, well-respected amongst the crew and the senior officers. After his death Nelson had thought for sure it would be impossible to find someone as dedicated to _Seaview_ as Curly had been. Francis Sharkey made no pretense about himself; he never tried to take Curly's place. He had earned the respect of the crew on his own merit; he had earned Nelson's respect by his loyalty. The Admiral simply couldn't think of another man he'd want covering his back in a tight spot.

No, he thought, resting his head against the cool rock and actually feeling quite pleased, he couldn't have picked two better men…two better _friends_.


	3. Chapter 3

**SSRN **_**Seaview**_**: 0400 hours**

"Mr. O'Brien, what's our ETA?" Chip knew the answer but he was edgy, impatient.

"Twelve hours, forty minutes, sir." O'Brien didn't mention the fact that the Lt. Commander had asked him that very same question only ten minutes ago.

Chip checked his watch. The timing would put them off the coast while there was still light out, just as he had hoped. He wasn't sure what they would be walking into; he didn't want to find out in the dark.

"Sparks, get in touch with Haskins at BioMed. I want to know the general area of Professor Kirkcastle's camp." Spreading a map over the plotting table, he motioned Bob over. "If the camp is here," he pointed to the windward side of the tiny island, "then I want to sail in over here, on the leeward side."

The young lieutenant looked at the Exec and saw the pensive look on his normally neutral face. "Do you think they might be in trouble?"

"I don't know." Chip let out a deep breath and leaned onto the table. "Maybe I'm being overly cautious and maybe it's nothing but I'm going to proceed as if the answer were yes."

**Pulau Kangor: Dawn**

Nelson had been sitting too long and the stiffness was making his joints ache. He wanted to stand and stretch his legs but he just couldn't seem to muster up enough energy to try. The heat, the humidity, and the constant pain exhausted whatever remaining strength he had. Wiping the perspiration away from his eyes, he tried to shake away the growing haze, all the while vaguely aware that his actions were under the watchful eye of Captain Crane.

"I'm fine," he answered before Crane had a chance to ask the question.

He wasn't fine and Lee knew it. Even in the dim light he could see the weariness in Nelson and the dull sheen in his eye. Just as Sharkey had predicted, the fever was getting worse.

Getting to his feet, Lee tried to shake off the last remnants of his own fatigue and clear his head after the short nap. Seeing Nelson's worsening condition only added more conviction to what he knew he had to do.

"I'm going to check on Sharkey," he said, giving the Admiral a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Nelson watched as he moved past him, towards the front of the cave. He understood Lee's restlessness. Had he not felt so completely worn out, had the constant pain not depleted all of his strength, he would have felt the same way. He never could sit still very long.

No, Nelson thought, Lee Crane wasn't the risk taker that he was-except when his back was against the wall and his men were in danger. And right now, his men were in danger. Nelson could only pray that Lee didn't get careless.

The last thing he wanted was to lose another friend.

~ooOoo~

Crane came up behind Sharkey and put his hand on the man's shoulder, feeling him jump at the unexpected contact. "How're you holding up?"

"Ah, you know me, sir. A couple of catnaps and I'm good as new."

"See anything out there?"

Sharkey shrugged and moved over, allowing the skipper to edge in beside him. "Bugs," he said disgustedly, smacking his hand against the back of his neck and flicking away the dead insect. "Lots and lots of bugs."

They were both quiet for some time before Sharkey asked, "What do you think? Any chance we'll get outta here alive?"

Crane was about to respond when the squawk and flutter of frightened birds filled the air.

"They're out there," Sharkey said to no one in particular. "Maybe they saw the fire?"

"I doubt it," Lee answered in a low voice. "I couldn't see it when I was out there and the smoke seems to be funneling up through one of those crevices in the back." He was quiet for a moment and then another thought occurred to him. "I hope to hell I didn't lead them back here. I didn't see anyone following me."

"Sir, this island isn't very big. I think we both know they'll find us soon enough."

Both men peered around their vantage and into the waning darkness. The sun still sat on the horizon, hours away from reaching its pinnacle in the sky but inside the lush tropical forest, the morning rays shone through the flora, giving the earth a new, fresh start.

Any other time, Crane thought, and this would be beautiful.

Sharkey's ears pricked up at the sound of cracking branches. "I got a bad feeling in the back of my neck."

"Maybe it's a bug bite."

Sharkey raised an eyebrow at the Skipper and got a cocky smile in return. Crane was just as anxious as he was but neither man would admit it.

Seconds later the crackle of gunfire echoed throughout the jungle.

"Sounds like the natives are restless," Sharkey said, raising his gun and peering around the rock encasement only to be met by bullets ricocheting wildly. "Jeezus!" he shouted, shielding his face from the shower of dirt and shards of rock. "They found us!"

Out of the corner of his eye he could just see Captain Crane, his lean frame pressed up against the face of the rock as bullets dotted a nearly perfect line right in front of his feet.

"Keep your head down and don't return fire! I don't think they see us."

Sharkey turned quickly. "Huh?"

Crane leaned in close to the Chief and peered over his shoulder. "Think about it Chief. Why haven't they come after us?"

"I was kinda wondering that myself."

"I don't think they can find us. The vegetation around this cave is so thick I almost couldn't find my way back here." Lee didn't mention that he had actually passed by the place several times before he found the marker he had left behind. "I think they know we're around here somewhere so they're firing blind, trying to panic us into returning fire."

At the sudden silence Sharkey understood. "So we'd give ourselves away. Pretty smart thinking, skipper."

Crane shook his head. It had been nothing more than a lucky guess. "If they knew we were here, they could have easily picked me off a couple of minutes ago. This island might not be very big but given these rock formations, I'm sure there are a lot of these little caves. Hopefully, it'll take them a little while to figure out this was the right one."

"And by then maybe they'll forget where they left us."

Crane nodded in agreement but he didn't feel very convinced. He knew it was only a matter of time before they were found. He had to think of something—fast.

"Skipper, we have a problem."

"Another one?"

"The Admiral's gonna need water. We got two empties and about one three-quarters full," he said, referring to the canteens. "I can give him what's left but it's not gonna be enough. When that fever kicks into high gear, he's gonna be dehydrated in no time."

"Yeah, I was afraid of that." He kicked at a rock with the dusty toe of his boot. "Chief, we can't stay here much longer. Even if we had food and water, we don't have enough ammunition to fight them off. Once they find us, we're likely to end up like Kirkcastle, Llewelyn and Bowman."

Sharkey swallowed hard. Trussed up from a tree with his stomach slit open wasn't a warm prospect. "You have a plan?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

Lee checked the clip in his gun and handed it over to Sharkey. His decision was quick and not particularly well thought out but he couldn't wait around any more.

Sharkey looked at the gun and then at the skipper. "You going somewhere?"

He looked over at the Admiral. "You and I both know he's not going to last much longer in these conditions. I need to find water. I have to see if I can get word to _Seaview_. Our last radio contact was over," he looked at his watch, "fifteen hours ago. They have to be looking for us."

Sharkey didn't protest; he couldn't. Crane had taken away the last shred of argument he had left. "You take this," he said, handing the gun back to Lee. "We'll be okay."

Lee holstered the gun, clipped one of the empty canteens onto his belt and slipped the radio over his shoulder then climbed past the protective rocks. A few seconds later, he had disappeared into the heavy overgrowth.

~ooOoo~

"Lee?"

Sharkey turned at the sound of Nelson's voice. Seeing the Admiral trying to get to his feet, he rushed to his side. "No you don't. You just sit tight."

Nelson tried to protest but Sharkey's restraining hand on his shoulder made think twice. He couldn't even muster enough strength to resist.

"Every time you move around, that wound starts bleeding and I'm all out of T-shirts." Sharkey tried to offset the fact that he had just ordered an Admiral around by flashing a smile.

"I'm fine," Nelson argued. "Just a little tired." He knew it was a lie but he wasn't about to admit otherwise. He was in much more pain than he cared to confess, his throat was dry and despite the fact that he had been dozing off most of the time, he couldn't seem to shake the persistent weariness that had settled deep within his bones.

"Sure, sure, sure, you're fine," Sharkey muttered under his breath. "And I'm Mother Theresa." Pulling away the bandage, he was pleased to see that the wound hadn't opened up again however, the area around the bullet hole was red and inflamed. He could feel the heat radiating off the Admiral without even touching the skin. Just as he had feared, infection had taken a firm hold.

Nelson let out a grunt and looked past Sharkey. "What's happening? I heard gunshots."

"They fired at us but the skipper thinks they don't know we're here."

"Yet."

Sharkey nodded. "Drink some water." He held the canteen up but Nelson waved him off. Sharkey persisted. "You've got a fever. You need to stay hydrated. With all due respect, Admiral, drink."

Nelson scowled but did as he was told and took a long drink. Handing the canteen back to the COB, he did his best to look threatening. "Don't get too comfortable giving me orders."

Sharkey grinned sheepishly. "Yes, sir."

"Where's Lee?" Nelson's eyes locked eyes with Sharkey's, daring the Chief to tell him anything but the truth.

Sharkey didn't answer.

"He should have taken you with him." Nelson looked away, shivering despite the increasing heat.

"Excuse me, sir?" Sharkey heard the statement; he just wanted the Admiral to explain.

The fuzziness in his head was growing worse, making it hard to think coherently. "You two would stand a better chance of getting out of here without me. I'm a liability."

"We all get out of here together. Understood?" This time Sharkey didn't worry about the Admiral's threat.

The Admiral shook his head, a tactical mistake as he quickly found out. "No, I'll only slow you down. We can't stay here. Chip will never find us." He spoke the words deliberately; it was the only way he could concentrate on what he wanted to say.

"The skipper's working on that."

"He's going to get himself killed," Nelson mumbled just before the cave and Sharkey took a sudden awkward tilt and darkness swallowed him up.

Sharkey noticed the heaviness in the Admiral's expression and caught him just before he slipped sideways.

~ooOoo~

Outside the cave, obscured by the thick overgrowth of green plants, Bidar watched the tall, dark-headed officer trudge by him, oblivious to his existence.

Smiling, he thought it was a good thing the officer was so preoccupied with fighting his way through the long, overhanging branches because otherwise Bidar would have had to cut his throat. That would happen soon enough, when the others found him.

Bidar's orders were simple: watch the cave. Had he veered from his orders, he knew he would suffer the same consequences as the intruders. He would follow his orders implicitly; he wasn't ready to die yet. Tonight the cache would be delivered and their days of waiting on this putrid hellhole would be over. First though, there were a few loose ends to tie up.

Suharto, his leader, had been patient. The men, Bidar included, had wanted to flush the intruders out and string them up like the others but Suharto insisted they wait. In the caves the intruders would have the advantage; they would kill many men, but wait them out, let them weaken without food and water and soon enough the intruders would go searching.

Suharto was right.

Quietly, Bidar radioed back to the encampment with the news. He knew where they were hiding and one had broken off from the others…

**SSRN **_**Seaview**_**: 1030 hours**

"ETA at Pulau Kangor: six hours, ten minutes." O'Brien didn't wait to be asked but thankfully, Mr. Morton's question had trickled down to once every half hour instead of every ten minutes.

"Sir, I'm picking up a lot of surface chatter."

Chip Morton left the Plotting Table and came around to the Radio Shack. "What kind of chatter?"

"News chatter," Sparks said. "A munitions ship was raided." He paused to listen further to the report. "Several members of the crew were killed; others were thrown overboard."

"Pirates?"

"They think so."

Chip pursed his lips and shook his head. "They're getting a lot more aggressive, going after a munitions ship in these waters."

"Yes, sir, but I suppose it was just a matter of time before they started going after the bigger fish," the radioman said, fidgeting in his chair as the Exec still loomed over him. Sparks didn't usually find Mr. Morton's presence uncomfortable but it was just a little disconcerting to have him standing there, staring in his general direction but not saying anything. It was as if the Exec expected a further explanation.

Trying desperately to think of something to say, Sparks said, "I'm sure some of the smaller islands around here make it easy for them—the pirates, I mean."

Chip fixed his gaze on the Lieutenant. "What?" He had been thinking about a dozen other things and truly hadn't heard the radioman.

Elaborating, Sparks replied, "When I was stationed on Guam, me and some buddies would go diving. We'd take a boat out and hit some of the reefs close to the smaller, uninhabited islands. They were always issuing warnings about going ashore and watching for suspicious boats in coves. These islands have a lot of caves and pirates were always using them to stash their cargo until they could offload it."

Sparks saw the look on the Exec's face as his own words echoed in his head. "Sir, Pulau Kangor is a long way from Guam."

Chip nodded, his brows knitted together. "Let's hope so. Let's hope it's nothing more than a bad radio transmitter and they're all sitting around the campfire telling tall tales and drinking grog."

Sparks frowned as the Exec walked away. He didn't believe it either.

**Pulau Kangor: Noon**

Pushing the overgrown foliage out of his way, Lee constantly fought to keep branches from hitting his face. So far he had not run into any of the others but he hadn't found any fresh water either. And now his body was beginning to suffer for it. His throat was parched, his right arm throbbed and his muscles felt weak; he was nearly spent. If it weren't sheer determination urging him on, he would have easily collapsed.

With the midday sun beating down and the air so thick he could almost squeeze it and get water, it was becoming harder and harder to pick his feet up and keep from stumbling over the exposed tree roots. As he pushed away a dense nest of branches with his forearm, a thick vine swung free and struck him in the chest, knocking him off balance. He hit the ground with a thud and for several minutes, lay there, unmoving, eyes focused up at the deep blue sky just visible through the tall canopy. For a moment it felt as if he were looking up at some sort of terrarium and he was the specimen contained inside.

He knew he needed to keep moving but the thought of getting to his feet exhausted him. If only he could close his eyes for a few minutes…

The vibration was faint but it was enough to make him open his eyes. He felt it again, more pronounced this time, a tremor that seemed to permeate his spine. It took several minutes before clarity set in and he understood. Heavy footsteps were approaching and judging by the steady reverberation, they were traveling fast.

Roused into action, Lee rolled onto his stomach and carried himself forward, crawling on his knees into the heavy vegetation. Quickly pulling off the canteen and radio, he remained perfectly still, his senses acute to every sound as the men passed by him, the sound of their machetes swooshing in the stillness. Bits of plant and vine fell around him, onto his back, into his hair yet, he did not move, he did not take a breath, until the last man had passed. Or so he thought.

Lifting his protesting body, stretching his aching back muscles, he flexed his injured arm and turned around. Had the lone man been looking his way as he relieved himself, Lee would have presented a perfect target.

Crane knew better than to reveal his cover without first doing a survey of the area. It was a tactical error brought on by exhaustion, hunger and thirst; but an error never the less. And he had to rectify it—fast.

The man finished up and turned around in the same instant that Lee lowered his shoulder and plowed into him. The force of the blow carried both men to the ground and for a few seconds Lee had the upper hand as his hands locked around the man's throat.

But the other man was bigger and stronger.

Crane felt the powerful hands lock onto his forearms and try to pry lose his hold. He felt the pressure on his wounded arm and wanted to cry out in pain but instead, Lee bore down harder, digging his thumbs into the man's flesh, trying to gather more force, praying the man would pass out before his strength drained away.

Lee's tenuous hold slipped away as the man wrenched free of his grasp and then tossed him aside like some sort of nuisance.

Lee rolled onto his shoulder and scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his automatic only to find the holster empty and the gun on the ground a few feet away. He thought about diving for it but as his eyes shifted back to his opponent, he saw the knife in the big man's hand.


	4. Chapter 4

Both men walked a wide circle, the larger man waving the knife back and forth, Lee concentrating on the curved blade. He tried to recall his training, tried to remember what they said about moving parallel to the weapon but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the polished steel.

The man lunged forward and suddenly, Lee did what came naturally, swinging his body around, grabbing the fleshy part of the man's hand and pulling his wrist up until the knife dropped to the ground. The big man brought his left hand around and glanced a blow off Lee's chin then wrapped his large hands around Lee's neck.

Lee reached out with his hands and tried to grab hold of anything he could to make the man let go but nothing was within his reach. He tried to reach up with his right hand, tried to wedge his palm under the other man's chin but he couldn't muster enough strength to get a good hold. He was gasping for air now, struggling frantically as the pressure on his neck increased and panic took hold.

Lee was fighting for his life, for the lives of the Admiral and Chief Sharkey, and as he thought of them, he felt the surge of anger, the rush of adrenaline course through his body, giving him the strength and the will to overcome. Reaching up one more time, his right hand shaking with the effort, he extended his index finger and gouged the man in the eye as hard as he could.

Instinctively clutching at his injured eye, the big man released his death grip and took a staggering step backward.

Lee's legs buckled and dropped him to the ground but he had little time to recover. His opponent squinted out of his one good eye and muttered something in his native language then launched a right hook that just missed Lee's head.

Lee saw the glint of the steel blade a fraction of a second before the other man. Using his slender frame to his advantage, he scrambled forward and grabbed the handle then rolled onto his back and pointed the knife blade up just as the big man lunged for him. He grunted loudly as the weight crushed him then gave the handle one half turn just for good measure. He felt the body go completely limp then gathered what strength he had remaining and gave one mighty push. The man flopped awkwardly over, the knife handle visible in the middle of the spreading red stain that covered his belly.

Lee was too exhausted to move. Lying motionless on the ground, his chest heaving as the adrenaline rush wore off, his body tried to recover from the trauma. Already his throat felt tight and sore and by morning, he was sure it would be swollen. That was all he needed.

He gave himself a few more minutes to rest then slowly got to his feet. Looking at the blood covering his hands, his shirt, he thought for a moment he was going to be sick but the feeling quickly passed. He had killed men before but he never could get used to it. Maybe that was a good thing, he thought, wiping his hands on the broad leaf of a palm.

Seeing the knife still jutting from the dead man's body, he thought about leaving it where it was then quickly reconsidered. At this stage of the game, necessity outweighed compunction. The knife would come in handy.

Already beginning to feel the soreness creep into his limbs, he reached down for his Colt .45 then found the other man's weapon propped up against a tree a few feet away. Picking it up, he frowned. Although it resembled a Russian made AK-47, this was something altogether different. He had seen an assault rifle like this once before and after further inspection, he realized where: the People's Republic. A Type 68 they called it. How the weapon ended up in the hands of this goon was a mystery he didn't have time to ponder. Checking the magazine, he allowed himself a small sense of satisfaction. Whatever the reason, it certainly beat the hell out of his 7-round semi-automatic pistol.

Lee picked up the radio and his empty canteen and started to resume his quest for fresh water. Still feeling a little light-headed, he walked slowly, stepping carefully over the exposed roots and loose rock. He had traveled only a few hundred feet when he suddenly stopped. Something wasn't right. The men weren't heading south, towards the encampment; they were heading east, the same way he had come. What if they knew about the cave? What if that was where they were heading?

Giving a long look to the overgrown path ahead, he brought up the radio and gave it a try, nearly tossing it away when all he received was static.

Taking a firm hold of the pilfered assault rifle, he made a hasty decision. Maybe he was wrong; maybe he would find Sharkey and the Admiral just as he had left them. Or maybe he was walking into a trap. He would know soon enough.

Ignoring the protests from his body, he took off at a sprint, trampling down anything in his path and careful once again to avoid the exposed tree roots. Bending back a sapling, he withdrew his hand at the blood-red stickiness that covered his fingers. For a moment he thought he had cut himself and then he remembered what the Admiral had called it: Sangre de Drago. Dragon's blood. He had found the elusive plant that Professor Kirkcastle's expedition had sought.

Quickening his pace, he rushed ahead. The discovery held no excitement for him; at this point, it all meant nothing. He knew that if he didn't hurry, if his hunch was right, there would be two more bodies to bury.

~ooOoo~

Chief Sharkey was past the point of exhaustion. It was only fear and sheer stubborn willpower that kept him going. But now, sitting by the rock, watching the black cloud of bugs swarming by the cave entrance and hearing the now familiar jungle noises chatter endlessly, he couldn't stop his eyes from closing.

The dreams came quickly, visions mostly, of bodies hanging from trees, his body, his feet dangling above the ground. And then the cries…

Opening his eyes, he saw the glint of black steel just before it came crashing down on his head.

Nelson heard the commotion and saw the men swarm the cave entrance. He tried to reach his weapon but he was too slow and there were too many. One of the men poked the barrel of his gun at Nelson's throat and barked something that Nelson could only assume to mean that he needed to get to his feet. It wasn't going to be an easy task and given the urgency that they wanted him to stand, he had the feeling they weren't going to have the patience to wait.

He was right.

He tried to put up a fight as they grabbed him by the wrist but his captor was too strong and he was too weak. He let out a loud grunt as they tugged at him, pulling him across the cave floor, through the small fire, over the sharp, jutting rocks, past Sharkey's crumpled body, out the cave opening and then down the rocky slope.

Nelson closed his eyes and tried to endure it all. Some part of his mind had hoped to fall into merciful unconsciousness but the more stubborn part of his brain fought it. He needed to stay conscious but as the pain welled into an agonizing crescendo, all hope of keeping his wits about him diminished. Seconds later, he lost his fragile hold on the present and thankfully slipped into the blackness.

~ooOoo~

Lee raced through the vegetation, easily following the swath of cut branches and crushed leaves the men left in their path. He didn't care that he was being reckless, that he was running out in the open and giving anyone who dared a clear shot. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and as he continued, as he realized the beaten down trail led straight back to the cave, it only got worse.

~ooOoo~

Lying on his side, his head resting on fallen branches and leaves, Nelson blinked groggily and tried to focus. The throbbing in his head answered his first question: he was indeed still alive, but the rest of his body felt momentarily numb.

He wiggled his hands and could feel the tight bindings on his wrists but as he tested the strength of knot, he quickly realized that any added tension to the rope caused pressure on his neck. He also realized that the action caused the pain in his side to worsen. Closing his eyes, feeling the moisture on his skin trickle down his forehead, he resigned himself to the wait and tried not to think about what might happen next. Instead he forced himself to concentrate on other things: on his sister, Edith, on past regrets, on Lee and Sharkey. He was certain Lee hadn't been in the cave but Sharkey had been guarding the entrance. Where was he now? Willing his eyes to open, he craned his neck, hoping to see if the Chief was nearby, and felt the uncomfortable tightness on his throat as the coarse rope dug into his flesh.

Someone moved across his line of sight. He couldn't lift his head but he didn't have to. He recognized the shoes.

"Sharkey." He thought he had said the name silently and was surprised when the man answered.

"Yeah, it's me. How you holding up?"

If he could have laughed, he would have. "Still breathing."

"That says something." Sharkey glanced over at the man and cringed. The wound had opened up and blood soaked through the bandage.

"How about you?"

"They knocked me around pretty good but luckily the hardest blow was to my head." Like Nelson, Sharkey had been dragged from the cave but he had been lucky; he made the journey down the cliff unconscious. He had been spared the immediate agony of being hauled over the rough surface and only now did he feel the brutal after-effects.

With his fingers locked behind his head, Chief Sharkey warily kept one eye on the Admiral, praying he could hold up. The older man couldn't last much longer in his weakened state-not in this heat and humidity and not with that wound. With an uncomfortable sense of dread, Sharkey recalled his days in Vietnam; recalled the stories about what the Viet Cong did with weak prisoners. His thoughts shifted suddenly as both he and the Admiral were ordered onto their knees. Soon enough, he figured, none of it would matter any longer; soon enough they would both be dead. What they really needed right now was a miracle.

His eyes darting around the clearing, Sharkey looked for any sign of Captain Crane.

~ooOoo~

With a firm grip on the knife handle, Lee Crane crept up behind the lone guard and wrapped his hand over the man's mouth, silencing any opportunity he might have had to cry out. Without hesitation Lee plunged the knife in between the shoulder blades, leaving it in place the few seconds until he felt the body go limp in his grasp, then lowered it onto the ground and reclaimed the knife.

Eyes scanning the area, he saw no one else as he quietly and quickly made his way up the rocks and around the narrow ledge. As he approached the opening and saw no sign of Sharkey at the sentry position, the sudden realization of what he might find nearly stopped his heart from beating. Afraid to look, afraid of what he might see, Lee put his hand over his mouth and cautiously peered inside. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he let out the breath he had been holding and leaned against the rock.

He was too late; they were gone.

Staring into the empty space, something caught his attention. Tracks, as if someone had been dragged across the ground, were just visible in the dirt. Turning on his heel, he saw the beaten down path and fresh smear of blood. He had just missed them.

Gripping the rifle tightly, feeling the renewed fire deep in his gut, he followed the trail that would hopefully lead him to his friends.

~ooOoo~

Nelson looked up at his captor and, ignoring the weapon being waved in his face, shook his head. If they wanted him on his knees, they were going to have to help him up.

_Help_ wasn't exactly the right word. His captor grabbed the rope around Nelson's neck and hauled him up then dropped him heavily onto his knees.

The Admiral coughed and gagged in response to the sudden pressure on this throat then very nearly pitched forward as he tried to find balance between the weight of his arms, the increased tension the rope brought on his neck, and the pain and weakness the effort caused. Feeling the fever's fierce return, shivering uncontrollably, he shook his head and tried to clear away the patches of white haze that clouded his vision and the roar of white noise that filled his ears, but it only became worse.

He flinched as the cold barrel of the gun pressed against the middle of his forehead and suddenly, all pain faded away and in its place, a powerless feeling of the inevitable. All his life's work was about to end right there, in an unceremonious execution on a little island in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't the way he had imagined.

Waiting for the last sound he would ever hear, Nelson held his head high and swallowed hard, then said a silent prayer for those he would leave behind, for Francis Sharkey and Lee Crane. Staring up at his executioner, daring him to pull the trigger, he managed to lift one corner of his mouth in a tight-lipped grin. If nothing else, he was going to go with dignity.

But the shot never came.

Instead, he watched in disbelief as the man holstered the weapon and moved away. Feeling someone tug at the stars on his collar, he heard the excited, unintelligible chatter just seconds before the white haze and the loud roar gave way to nothingness.

~ooOoo~

Lee heard the raised voices and quickly hit the ground, crawling through the lush vegetation until he had a clear view. What he saw nearly made him rush to his feet and charge forward.

Watching in guarded silence as the Admiral avoided execution then collapsed onto the ground, Lee fought every instinct to rescue his friends. But he had to wait; he had to keep his wits about him and think logically.

He had no idea how many men were around the parameter, how many guns were trained on Nelson and Sharkey. Both men were still alive; if he rushed in now, he'd certainly seal their fate. His own chances wouldn't be much better. No, he had to be patient. As much as it kicked in his belly, as much as it went against every single instinct, he had to wait. Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't be ready.

Slowly sliding the rifle forward, he steadied the end on a jutting branch and poised his finger on the trigger. Now he would wait.

~ooOoo~

From the corner of his eye, Sharkey watched as the scene unfolded. He saw the gun at the Admiral's forehead and felt his own rush of fear - for the Admiral and for himself. The last thing he would ever see was the Admiral getting his brains blown out. He couldn't look; he didn't want have that image in his head even in his last remaining seconds. Instead, he closed his eyes and tensed, waiting for the sound of a single gunshot.

Nothing.

Hearing the commotion, he opened his eyes and looked over just as the Admiral fell onto the ground.

At first Sharkey was confused. Had they hurt him? But there had been no gunshot. Looking around the clearing, he saw the men gathered around Nelson then parting as another man, obviously their leader judging by the tattered officer's jacket he wore, came forward.

The new man shouted orders as he waved his automatic from Nelson to Sharkey then to the vegetation that surrounded the small clearing. He then pointed the weapon at one of his own men and pulled the trigger.

Sharkey felt the spray of blood sprinkle the side of his face and heard the thud as the body dropped. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead, trying not to react, trying even harder not to retch.

~ooOoo~

Lee ducked his head quickly and silently prayed that he hadn't been seen. In that split second he heard the gunshot, flinching as the sound reverberated through the jungle, and seemed to hang on the thick air.

Glancing behind him, seeing a clear way out, he hesitated, unsure whether to pull back or stay his ground as his conflicted emotions took hold once again. Why was it so difficult for him? Why did he feel so completely helpless and indecisive? He generally thrived on his wits but now? Now he couldn't seem to think straight.

Raising his head, peering into the clearing, he could now see the Admiral on his knees again, held up by one of his captors. Nelson was facing in Lee's direction but judging by the slump in his shoulders, Lee doubted very much the man was lucid. Then he saw it.

Nelson slowly raised his head, locking eyes with Lee, and staring hard, seemingly willing the commander to pull the trigger and put him out of his misery.

Lee stared back, giving a barely perceptible shake of his head. He wouldn't do it. Closing his eyes, unable to meet Nelson's gaze any longer, he turned away and listened to the angry shouts. When he looked again, Nelson was gone.

He knew what he had just done. He had essentially resigned the Admiral to the same fate as Kirkcastle and the others. It was a decision he'd have to live with for the rest of his life.

Fortunately, he didn't expect to carry that burden much longer. Soon enough, he'd be dead too.

~ooOoo~

Sharkey felt the sharp crack between his shoulder blades and as agonizing threads of fire shot up the back of his neck and his shoulders, numbing his arms, he too crashed onto the dirt. Merciful pain drowned out all sound as fists and feet pummeled and kicked his prone body. When they finally stopped, when they moved away and left him alone, he laid perfectly still, his senses intensely aware of the pain and of bits of stone and roots pressing into his face.

Opening his eyes, seeing nothing but vacant ground where the Admiral had been, he shifted his gaze in vain to search the area but to no avail. The Admiral was gone and so it seemed, were his captors. For a moment Sharkey was certain they had left him to the mercy of his fate.

Rolling onto his back, he looked up to see the silhouette of a man and the glint of sunlight reflecting off his toothy, gold smile just before the man plunged the blade into Sharkey's right shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

Admiral Nelson was gone and now Sharkey was dying, possibly even dead. Lee could still hear the injured cry, could almost feel the raw wound as the sound cut him to the core. Pushing aside his anguish and guilt, he tightened his grip on the rifle and licked his dry lips. Perspiration dripped off his forehead and into his eyes but he was oblivious to the sting. He'd had enough.

Overhead, birds scattered, squawking their displeasure at the disrupting noise and drawing Lee's attention to the surrounding trees. He saw their shadows, watching, waiting for him to make one wrong move. They weren't interested in Sharkey. It was him they wanted. They knew he was out there and they were using Sharkey as the bait. Well, he wasn't going to play their game. Lee Crane was feeling dangerous now.

Checking the clip and clenching his jaw tightly, he bolted from the protection of the dense foliage, firing blindly at the shadows and yelling angrily as he ran across the small clearing and slid into a patch of ferns. Rolling onto his belly, his finger pressed the trigger and the Chinese-made Type 68 fired without hesitation, dropping the four attackers who made the mistake of following him into the glade.

A trail of branches and leaves kicked up all around him as the shadows answered with a volley but Lee didn't hesitate. Following the trajectory of the bullets, Crane took out the men with one frantic burst.

And then silence.

Lee emerged from his cover, his chest rising and falling heavily, his senses alert for any sound. And then he heard it: twigs cracking underfoot and the swoosh of a machete as it cleared a path. He stood frozen in place, finger on the trigger, ready to fire as soon as they broke through the brush.

~ooOoo~

Nelson sputtered and kicked, fighting the pinpricks of darkness as the rope cut into his neck, cutting off his air. He was only vaguely aware of the fallen branches, the protruding rocks and tree roots and anything else nature happened to leave in their path as they dragged him over the harsh ground. By the time his captors came to a halt, Nelson had already passed the point of stubborn determination, of adrenaline and an enduring will to live. All that remained were the few frayed threads of his existence. He wanted to care but it was easier not to; it was easier to let go.

He was barely conscious when they tossed the rope aside and left him alone in a muddled heap in the dirt.

As the pressure on his neck subsided, Nelson's body reacted instinctively, frantically sucking in air and coughing, nearly choking with the effort. The white patches crept closer, filling the edges of his vision, threatening to carry him away. His legs felt like lead, his arms felt useless and limp but his mind was slowly becoming aware of the quiet, of the stifling humidity, of the men moving around him, and of his location. He was in the tent, Andy's tent, where they had found the bodies. He could see the spatters of blood on the canvas walls, the sunlight making them look like nothing more than large, dark spots. A long shadow fell across the tent and thankfully the spots disappeared. Powerful hands clamped down on his shoulders and abruptly hauled him to his feet.

Unable to stand on his weakened legs, he started to fall forward only to be jerked harshly back by the same firm grip. Voices, shouts in a language he couldn't understand, echoed distantly in his head. Dizziness, nausea, pain and the infernal heat all tugged at his consciousness, making it nearly impossible to focus on the man now standing directly in front of him.

"Who are you?" The voice was strong and heavily accented.

It took almost a full minute before the question registered and he said, "Admiral Harriman Nelson" with as much force and conviction as he could muster.

"Admiral of what?" the man asked, moving the barrel of the Italian Beretta to the 4-stars on Nelson's collar.

With the thick accent and the buzzing in his ears, Nelson didn't understand the question. Confused, he shook his head.

"Where is your ship?"

"No ship," Nelson answered, his head swimming.

"Lies!" The man brought the handle of the gun up quickly, hitting Nelson sharply across the mouth and sending flecks of blood onto the dirt floor.

Nelson lost his tenuous hold on the present and despite the hold on his arms, sunk to his knees.

Fingering the stars on Nelson's collar, the man pulled them free then pinned them onto the front of his own ragged uniform then pressed the barrel of the gun against Nelson's head and pulled the trigger.

~ooOoo~

Lee blinked once, ran his fingers over his eyes and then blinked again as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. Immediately lowering his weapon, he relaxed for the first time and nearly collapsed with unmistakable relief.

"Doc, over here!" Chip Morton yelled as he put a supportive hand on Crane's right elbow.

Will Jamieson sprinted through the vegetation, dropped his bag onto the ground and did a quick assessment. "Dehydration, fatigue and," he lifted the makeshift bandage on Lee's arm, "infection."

"No," Lee said, trying to push away from the men but feeling as if all of the energy had been drained from his body. "Sharkey. He's out there."

Doc glanced into the clearing and saw what the Captain saw. "Frank, take care of the skipper."

~ooOoo~

Francis Sharkey wearily opened his eyes and listened. It had been several minutes since he had last heard the distant rat-tat-tat of an assault rifle. Somewhere deep inside his subconscious mind he knew he should be worried but staring up at the tall, green canopy with the bright rays of sunlight shining through, he couldn't remember why.

Closing his eyes, he realized the sun was gone now, hidden behind the cover of the trees. Only shadows remained; shadows that spoke to him by name.

_Chief Sharkey._

He wouldn't answer them though. It hurt far too much and he didn't have the energy.

Still, they persisted.

_Stay with me, Sharkey._

He wasn't imagining the shadows; they were truly speaking to him. Opening his eyes, he couldn't quite make out the image hovering over him. Then clarity.

"Doc? Are you real?"

"I sure am."

He closed his eyes again.

"I'm going to give you something for the pain and then we're going to get you back to _Seaview_."

No, he couldn't leave yet. Forcing his eyes to open, he tried to focus on the faces around him but couldn't. "Admiral Nelson…the skipper, are they safe?"

Doc glanced over at Crane who was now sitting on the ground and sipping from a canteen. "The skipper's a little worse for wear but he's going to be just fine."

"The Admiral. What about the Admiral? They took him away. He's gonna end up like the others."

"Easy, Chief," Doc said, as he motioned for a crewman toting the rescue litter. The last thing Jamieson wanted or needed was an agitated COB. "We just found you and the skipper. I'm sure we'll find the Admiral very soon."

Seeing to the final details as the men carefully loaded Sharkey onto the portable litter, Doc prayed he was right. He had seen his share of horrific scenes in his career as a Navy corpsman but finding one of their own staked to the ground by a knife blade and then left to die in the jungle was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

What else they were going to find?

~ooOoo~

Relieved to know that Sharkey was alive and safe, Lee was back on his feet with a renewed sense of strength and purpose in a matter of minutes. Slinging the canteen over one shoulder and picking up the assault rifle, not waiting for the others to follow, he started off in the direction he had last seen the Admiral.

"Lee, wait!" Chip hustled to catch up with an already disappearing Crane then reached out to halt the skipper's progress. "You're in no condition to go this alone."

Lee shrugged off Chip's hand then lowered an icy glare on the Lt. Commander.

Chip had expected to see the all-to-familiar look of determination on his Captain's face. What he saw in its place however, was something altogether different; something he couldn't quite place.

"They took him this way," he replied, his voice impassive as he followed the beaten down path.

Chip watched as Lee passed him then motioned for the others to stay with the Captain while Jamieson brought up the rear, walking slowly beside Sharkey. "Doc, hold up a minute." Chip lowered his voice slightly. "Will he be okay without you?"

"He needs to be back aboard _Seaview_ if that's what you mean?"

"I mean if I send him back with Frank and a small detail, will he be okay if you stay here?"

Understanding what the Exec meant, Doc nodded. "Yes, I think he'll be in capable hands."

"Good," Chip said, giving orders to the detail, waiting until they were safely clear and then motioning for Doc to follow. "Come with me."

"Did you see them?" Lee asked, hunched down in the thick brush and motioning with his head towards what was once the BioMed encampment, the logo still prominent on one of the large tents.

They had arrived at the camp only a few minutes earlier and had sent two crewmen forward to scout the area.

"No, we thought there might be trouble so we came in from the west. There's a fairly deep channel that runs parallel to the shore so we were able to bring _Seaview_ in close enough to get a couple of boats in the water. We were about halfway in when we heard the shots and set off in this direction. Took out a few stragglers along the way."

"I think they might be drug runners or pirates." Lee pushed aside the vegetation and peered through at the men milling around the area.

"Pirates. We got a report about a raid on a munitions ship."

It all made sense now. "I think there were offloading several crates last night." Lee looked directly at Chip. "We walked right into a massacre. Kirkcastle, Llewelyn, Bowman, they're all dead. We lost Jenkins and the Admiral took a bullet in his back."

"He's alive then?"

"He was the last time I saw him but…" Lee's voice trailed off as he turned away. "You should have seen what they did to those men."

Now Chip understood. Now he recognized that indiscernible look he had seen on Lee's face earlier: fear. Lee Crane was terrified of what they were going to find.

"We'll find him," Chip said, anxiously waiting for Kowalski and Riley to report back.

~ooOoo~

Hearing the repeated click of an empty chamber, the man angrily tossed the Beretta aside and let Nelson drop to the ground. Stepping over the fallen admiral, he walked out of the tent shouting orders to his indolent men until they were on their feet.

Glancing at the lush vegetation surrounding the camp, he spat on the ground in disgust. He had treated the intruders as nothing more than insignificant flies. Now his men were dead and still this one evaded him. But not for long. Soon he would suffer as the others had.

Grabbing the shirt of a passing man, he pulled him close. "I want that man found. Don't come back here without his head." Glancing back at the tent, he remembered why he had come outside. "Give me your pistol."

Without hesitation, the man handed it over.

"Go!"

~ooOoo~

A rustling in the brush alerted Chip and Lee that they were about to have company. Bringing up their weapons, both men looked relieved when Riley's blond head appeared in the waning light.

"Riley, over here," Chip Morton said in a loud whisper.

The young crewman crawled in between the two officers while Kowalski brought up the rear.

"What did you find?" Lee felt the anxious rush of adrenaline followed quickly by a foreboding sense of dread. He knew they couldn't storm in but something told him it wouldn't matter. In his mind he could still picture Kirkcastle trussed up from the tree, only this time the face was different. This time it was Nelson staring blankly at him.

Riley took one look at Crane's face and felt a sense of relief when Kowalski spoke up. "Looks like thirty or so men but they aren't in any hurry. They looked like they were settling in for the night. If they know we're out here, they sure aren't showing it."

Lee's lips thinned into a tight line. "Let's go then. We'll try to surprise them and hope we catch them off guard."

Chip mobilized the men, giving instructions and waiting for Lee's order.

~ooOoo~

Suharto, the pirate captain, checked the chamber of the weapon as he walked back to the tent then stopped to pick up one of the heavy machetes. He'd send a message to anyone who dared to occupy _his_ island.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted from all around him. Before he could react, fatigue-clad men, bolted from the jungle and out in front, leading the assault, one single man dressed in the same khaki uniform as the man he had left in the tent.

Lee scanned the area and froze, his blood suddenly running cold. There on the collar of the lead pirate's jacket were four stars: Admiral Nelson's stars.

Letting his weapon drop to the ground, feeling the rush of pure adrenaline, Lee Crane ran forward, his legs pounding the soil, oblivious to the shouts and gunfire around him. Consumed by rage, he had one objective and nothing was going to stand in his way.

Ignoring the bullets landing near his feet, Lee squared his shoulder and let out a yell as he launched himself into the man, knocking both of them off their feet, never giving the pirate a chance to fire his gun before it slipped from his grasp.

With the machete still firmly in hand, the pirate lashed out, slicing into the side of Lee's thigh.

Lee let go, instinctively grabbing his leg and feeling both searing pain and the wetness of his own blood. But he didn't have time to worry about it.

Suharto lashed out again only this time Lee's instincts were quicker. Bring up his bloodied hands, he caught the man by the wrist and wrenched his hand backwards until he finally loosened his grip and let the long knife fall to the ground.

The pirate struggled, trying to break free by kicking his legs and thrashing around but Lee was stronger. Pumped with anger, Lee grabbed the scruffy blue jacket by the lapels and quickly struck with his fist, hitting the man squarely in the face.

Suharto fell to the ground but Lee didn't relent as he jerked the man upright again and delivered a second, more vicious blow. As the man sagged in Lee's grasp, Lee let the man go then reached for the long blade. Rearing back, the machete poised in his hand, his chest heaving as he sucked in air, Lee was ready for the kill.

For one brief moment, he saw the wide-eyed fear on the pirate's bloodied face and wondered if that same look had registered on Andrew Kirkcastle's face before they murdered him.

_Murder._ The word resounded in his head, making him hesitate. _No_, he thought, _retribution_. That's what this was: retribution for Kirkcastle, Llewelyn, Bowman and Nelson.

"Lee, no!" Chip Morton put his hand on Lee's and slowly urged him to lower the machete. "We found Admiral Nelson," he said, handing the knife to Patterson.

The words registered quickly. "Is he alive?" he asked, unable to move.

"Doc's with him."

"Is he alive?" he grabbed Chip by the shirt and shouted the question.

Chip didn't flinch. "Barely."

Lee started to push past him but stumbled as the pain in his leg intensified. Chip caught the skipper, supporting him the few hundred yards to the tent.

Entering the enclosed space, the smell of blood, mildew and death hit him, making him feel light-headed. He saw Doc kneeling on the ground, running a line into the very pale arm of Admiral Nelson and dragged a hand across his forehead. Suddenly, the room felt very hot, making it even more difficult to think.

"Will he make it?" he asked just seconds before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sickbay: SSRN**_** Seaview**_

"He's dead!" Lee shouted, his arms lashing out at some unseen enemy. "He's dead! It's my fault! I killed him!"

The corpsman moved away to let Will Jamieson through. "Lee, it's all right." He placed a comforting hand on the skipper's shoulder. "You're okay. Calm down."

Lee opened his eyes and looked around the room, quickly recognizing the sterile smell in the pristine room. "_Seaview_?"

"_Seaview_." Doc assured him. "You've been safely back aboard for nearly eight hours now."

Lee sat up and tried to swing his legs around, only to register sharp pain in his thigh. "The Admiral?" Jamieson tried to urge the Captain back onto the bed but Lee was having none of it. He had to know. "He's alive?"

Jamieson rubbed his eyebrow and looked down at the floor, nodding. Thankfully, Lee didn't question him further.

"What about Sharkey?"

At least he had some good news. "Chief Sharkey lost quite a bit of blood and he'll be to be out of commission for a while but with some physical therapy he's going to be fine."

"Thank God." Lee closed his eyes and let out a quick, deep breath as a huge weight lifted off his shoulders. "Can I see him?"

Doc frowned but relented. "If I say no, you'll do it when my back is turned."

Lee gently eased himself off the bed and tested his legs. Feeling weak, tired, and just a bit unsteady, he accepted Doc's aide in helping him across the room. His leg felt strangely numb while his arm ached in a way that seemed to permeate his whole body. Only now did he come to understand just how much adrenaline had kept him going.

Gingerly taking each step, he glanced at Sharkey then quickly looked away as the sound of an agonizing cry flooded his memory. He wanted to stop and turn around but he knew he couldn't. He had to face the man; he had to see for himself that Sharkey was all right. Standing beside the bed, Lee stood silently and watched the sleeping man.

Sensing hesitance and a range of other unidentifiable emotions, Doc took the initiative. "I expect he'll be up and around in a week."

"A week?" Lee was shocked at the news.

"I'm not saying it wasn't a nasty wound or that it didn't do quite a bit of damage to the ligaments and tissue but he's a tough bird."

"Hard to kill," Sharkey muttered. "Did we get them, sir?"

Doc nodded. "We got them."

"And the Admiral?"

This time Doc hesitated. "He's here too."

Sharkey tried to look around but could only see Doc and the skipper. "Where? Where is he? They dragged him away. I couldn't do anything to stop them."

"It's okay Chief. We found him. He's alive and Doc says he's going to be..." Lee stopped and looked at Jamieson, worried when he saw the tight frown on the man's face. Then it hit him: Doc never did say.

"He'll be just fine," Doc finished, giving Sharkey a reassuring pat on the arm but never meeting either man's gaze.

Sharkey closed his eyes, a lopsided grin lighting his face. "That's just great, sir. Just great."

It wasn't until they were out of earshot that Lee spoke, "He's not going to be fine. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to tell you but I thought you needed to hear the good news first."

"Tell me now." His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.

"His condition is critical. He's a very sick man, Lee."

"I knew the wound was bad but I didn't think it wasn't anything you and a round of antibiotics couldn't fix."

"The wound was bad enough: significant tissue and muscle damage, blood loss, and a broken rib that probably saved him from something much more serious but when we got to him, he was showing signs of sepsis. I don't have a proper lab here but it was enough to confirm my suspicion. This is much worse than a bacterial infection. This infection is caused by a variety of microbes. I have antibiotics to kill any number of bacteria but again, without proper facilities I can't identify the specific microbe."

"What about Guam—the Naval Hospital?"

"Yes, well, we're up against the clock on this one. By the time we can get him there, it'll be too late."

"The Flying Sub…"

Doc shook his head. "No good. It's out of commission. Apparently, our island friends tried to pry their way into it and did some serious damage. There was just enough power to get it back aboard _Seaview_. Chip has Kowalski on it but I doubt he'll get it repaired in time." He paused and looked over to where Nelson lay. "He's been on continuous intravenous infusion since we got to him and I had him in the Hyperbaric chamber on 100% oxygen earlier, but I'm afraid it's had no real effect. The infection is in his blood stream and right now, time is his enemy."

Lee felt as if he had been kicked in the gut. Suddenly, the weight was back, pressing down on his shoulders and threatening to crush him. "You're telling me there's nothing else to do but wait for him to die?"

This time Doc's shoulders slumped as his own exasperation set it. "I'm sorry. I'm doing what I can but I've run out of options."

Ignoring Jamieson's frustration, Lee's temper flared. "Are you going to give up then? Just let him die?"

"I'm doing what I can, Captain." Doc countered, his own anger rising. "Do you think I want to let him die? He's my friend too but my hands are tied. We just don't have the resources aboard this submarine." He knew he was out of line. Lee Crane might be his patient but he was still the captain of the boat. "He needs to be in a hospital where he can have proper medical treatment." Doc wearily scratched his forehead. "And even there I don't know if he'll make it. The mortality rate for severe sepsis is high, even in the best circumstances."

Slowly ingesting the news, Lee swallowed hard. This was almost too much to absorb. It all seemed to be moving so quickly; it had to be a dream. He felt the room take an abnormal tilt and for a moment, he thought he was going to pass out.

Seeing the color drain from Crane's face, an alarmed Jamieson asked, "Are you okay? You need to sit down." He was already motioning for Frank, his corpsman, to bring a chair over.

"I'm fine," Lee countered, waving off the doctor then straightening his shoulders as if to reassert that he was okay. "Is he awake? Can I see him?"

"You can see him but he's still under sedation."

With Doc's help Lee limped towards Nelson's bed. Halfway there, he abruptly stopped.

Once again, Doc asked, "Are you okay?"

Lee shook his head then looked down at his bare feet on the gray deck as the memory of Nelson looking into his eyes, pleading with him to kill him, flashed though his mind. "The infection, is that the worst of it?"

Confused, Doc asked, "What do you mean?"

"What else aren't you telling me?" Lee couldn't go any farther without knowing a few more truths. He felt angry: at Doc, at the men on the island, and at Nelson, although for the life of him he didn't know why.

Doc shook his head. "There's nothing else." He watched Lee closely, noticing something in his demeanor he had never seen before, something troubling and dark. Whatever happened on that island had apparently affected the Captain deeply. He couldn't help but wonder just how far down Lee's wounds had penetrated.

Lee ran his hand over his face and rubbed his rough jaw. "I'm sorry."

Doc let go of Lee's arm and turned to face him. "What happened out there?"

Lee looked away. "Nothing." He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "There's nothing to say. What does it matter anyway?"

In a calm, solicitous voice, Doc said, "Lee, talk to me."

Lee was quiet for some time and then, "it wasn't supposed to be like this," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

He pushed passed Doc and limped his way to Nelson's bed, stopping nearly a foot away, afraid to venture any closer. He stood transfixed, his expression set, completely devoid of emotion. Even from where he stood, he could see the lines going in: one pushing plasma into Nelson's right arm and a bigger one pumping something clear into his neck.

It couldn't end like this. Harriman Nelson was his mentor, his friend. What was it Nelson had said once? _As close as brothers_. Yes, Lee thought, finding some solace in the memory; that was it. _Big brother, little brother and just like brothers, sometimes one did want to bash some sense into the other_.

"It was just a routine trip," Lee said, finding his voice. "He wanted me to meet Professor Kirkcastle. We walked into the camp and found the men hanging from the trees outside the main tent. They had been…gutted. The next thing we knew, we were under fire from all sides. I started running." He watched Doc's face for some kind of reaction, saw nothing but the familiar placid, non-judgmental demeanor and continued. "Sharkey was behind me with the Admiral and Jenkins bringing up the rear. Jenkins went down and the Admiral went back for him. I heard the shots. I should have stopped but I kept going. I kept running…"

Lee turned away only to find Doc at his side. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. I know he'd tell you the same thing if he could."

"You don't understand! I left him there! Sharkey stopped and went back but I kept going."

"Lee, listen to me. Did you know either he or Jenkins had been hit?" Jamieson knew the skipper almost as well as anyone; he knew he wasn't a coward. Like Nelson, the word wasn't even in his genetic makeup.

Lee didn't hesitate. "I heard the gunshots but I had no idea either Jenkins or the Admiral had been hit. I wanted to find cover. I knew we needed to get out of the line of fire quickly. I should have…"

"You can't be omnipotent," Jamieson interrupted. "You couldn't know what was going on behind you when you had no idea what was up ahead. You said it yourself; you were under fire. Quit beating yourself up over this. There's only so much one man can do."

Lee stood in silence for several minutes before finally shaking his head in agreement but Doc knew it wasn't over. Something else was troubling the Captain, something that went much deeper. For now he wasn't going to press it—not yet anyway.

"If you're going to stay here, then you need to sit down," Doc said, guiding Lee into the chair then stepping away only to return minutes later with a fresh saline bag and handing it to Frank. "He's taking in fluids almost as fast as we can put them up but his output has been almost nothing. How's his blood pressure?"

"No change—still dangerously low."

"Continue with the vasopressors." Jamieson ran his hand over his thinning hair. He had been preoccupied with Crane but now, standing over Nelson, seeing the ravages of fever and infection, watching the restlessness despite the drug-induced sleep, he felt the lump in his stomach travel to his chest. Harriman Nelson was his friend too. He hated seeing him like this but more than anything else, he hated feeling so damned helpless. Walking around, he checked the drainage tube leading from the inflamed skin.

"Doc, Sangre de Drago!" The excitement in Lee's voice grew. "Sangre de Drago!"

"What?" Jamieson looked up quickly.

"Their notes—where are they?" Lee was out of the chair and halfway across the room.

Doc still didn't understand and he wasn't about to let the Captain out of his Sickbay. "Just wait a minute," he said, heading Lee off before he made it to the door. "What's this all about?"

"The Admiral was telling me about this expedition, the plant Professor Kirkpatrick was looking for. I don't remember the name…Crocus, Croton, something like that. He said it had strong healing properties." Lee closed his eyes as he tried to recall the details only to feel exasperation. If only he had been listening… "I can't remember everything but he said something about fighting infections. Maybe it'll work!"

"Lee, it's a medicinal plant. We don't know what kind of affect it'll have or if it'll even work. There's too much risk involved."

"What risk? You said yourself there's nothing you have here that's strong enough. What chance does he have otherwise?" Lee stopped and listened, feeling the hum in his bare feet. "We're underway," he said more as a personal realization than anything else. "How long have we been underway?"

"I'd guess about seven hours," Doc replied. He knew where this was leading and didn't like it one bit. "Look, even if this plant did work, which I don't think it will, by the time we get there, it'll be too late. Guam is too far out and by the time we turn the sub around and head back to the island…"

"The Flying Sub." The look in Lee's eye told the physician he wasn't giving up. Not without one last fight.

Doc was starting to feel a bit exasperated. Hadn't the skipper heard anything he said earlier? "Chip said it was out of commission. There wasn't enough juice to get it into the air. Besides, he'll never last the trip there…

"Not to Guam, to the island. There might not be enough power to get it into the air but it doesn't take as much power underwater and that would still save us a few hours. I know where the plant is," he looked again at Nelson then quickly turned away, "you find Llewelyn and Bowman's notes."

Although Jamieson still didn't like it, he knew he had lost the argument.

Lee hobbled over to the intercom. "Chip, how far are we from Pulau Kangor "

The voice on the other end sounded slightly confused. _"We're 450 miles out "_

"Bring us to a full stop!"

"_What?"_

"We have to return, now!"

In the control room Chip Morton gave the order then turned command over to Bob O'Brien and quickly headed for Sickbay.

US Naval Hospital—Guam: three days later

"Doc says you'll be back home in a few days." He had actually said ten days but technically, that included a few days so it wasn't a complete lie.

Nelson smiled weakly at the news. No one hated hospitals more than he did.

Lee could sympathize. He wasn't very fond of them either but with the Admiral, it was much worse. Doc once speculated that it was possibly related to the loss of his parents but Lee always suspected it was something more basic: the man just didn't like being out of the action for any length of time. Right now however, he wasn't arguing.

Admiral Nelson had been confused by his surroundings when he woke up in the hospital. His last memory was of the island and the blood spattered tent. Luckily, Lee was there to explain everything: the impervious infection, Kowalski's spit and glue repairs to the Flying Sub that got them to the island and back to _Seaview_ in just under six hours, finding the Croton erythrochilu and using the blood-red sap from the small tree to get the infection under control and then waiting what seemed like an eternity until the sepsis finally showed signs of weakening. It hadn't been a panacea but it had staved off the infection long enough to get to the hospital.

The admiral wasn't completely out of the woods—he still had to undergo surgery to repair the tissue and muscle damage from the bullet wound but at least now he was strong enough to withstand the anesthesia.

"How's Sharkey?" Nelson was dead tired; trying to hold up his end of the conversation took more effort than he had but he wasn't ready to surrender yet.

"Ask him yourself." Lee moved aside to let Sharkey step forward, grinning from ear to ear.

Nelson saw the white cuff and collar and frowned. He had very little recollection of what went on after he and Sharkey were separated. "What happened?"

"Long story but it's nothing to worry about now. Doc says I'll be good as new in a month or so."

He closed his eyes and nodded. He was fading fast but there were still questions that needed answers. "The men?" He forced his eyes open.

"With the help of the cavalry," Lee grinned at Sharkey, "we got them."

"Any idea who they were?"

"Pirates. They were raiding munitions ships and using the island as their own weapon depot. Chip said they found quite a cache in some of the caves."

"That explains why…"

"It does," Lee answered quickly. With a deep breath, he continued, "We turned them over to the authorities here in Guam."

"Good." He slowly closed then opened his eyes. "What about the crew?"

"They're enjoying a little R&R right now. We brought back the remains of Professor Kirkcastle, David Llewelyn and Iain Bowman. We are turning over their notes and directions to the Croton erythrochilus to Dr. Haskins at BioMed."

The pain returned to Nelson's face. "Thanks."

Lee dropped his head and twisted his ring. "Admiral, there's something I need to say."

Nelson had been warned that Crane was carrying a heavy burden. "There's nothing to say."

"It should have been me. I should have been behind you, with Jenkins."

"Then you'd be lying here and I'd be standing there, thinking the same thing." He shook his head emphatically. "No, your responsibility was getting us out of the line of fire. You did that. You couldn't have known what was happening behind you. Besides," he said taking a deep breath then feeling the catch in his side and wincing, "I'd have fallen behind sooner or later." The action exhausted him a little more. Ordering his thoughts carefully, he continued, "Don't forget that I outrank you. Had you been bringing up the rear, I'd have ordered you to lead the way. It's where you belong." He felt drained but hopefully, he managed to make his point. Nelson watched his captain carefully. "That's not all troubling you, is it?"

"After they captured you, in the clearing…"

Nelson's eyes narrowed as he tried to recall what happened. "I'm sorry, I don't remember." The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, imperceptibly, giving away the lie. Thankfully, Lee hadn't noticed.

Lee grew quiet. Lately, the incident had monopolized his dreams, waking him from an already fitful sleep. He wasn't so sure he could brush aside what happened so easily. He still hadn't come to terms with the last time he had been faced with killing Nelson. Knowing the positive outcome of both incidents, he couldn't help but think about what might have been. And that was the root of his self-reproach.

"Don't forget. As soon as we get to Santa Barbara, you owe me an explanation."

"An explanation?" Lee nearly went pale. Maybe he did remember after all.

Nelson motioned towards Lee's arm. "About a monkey and how it saved your life."

"Oh, yeah." He grinned. "I think you owe me a beer."

"Yes, I do." Nelson held out his left hand in an awkward handshake however before Lee accepted, he reached for something in his pocket.

"These belong to you," Crane said placing the bar of four stars into the Admiral's hand.

Lee and Sharkey left the room, leaving Nelson alone. Gripping the stars tightly in his fist, he closed his eyes but still didn't sleep. There was still one unresolved question.

~ooOoo~

"Does Kate Tannehill know?" he asked, ignoring Doc's mild diatribe on why he needed to rest.

Unfortunately Chip Morton had stopped by to visit the Admiral and to find Lee and walked into the middle of it. "About Professor Kirkcastle, no. I haven't notified anyone at BioMed yet."

"Wait." Nelson rubbed his eye tiredly. "Let me talk to her first."

Doc shook his head. "You're not strong enough." Physically was a given; mentally was the concern.

"Please." Nelson wasn't going to give up without an argument. It was too important to him. "This was supposed to be Andy's last expedition. They met when he picked up the falciparum bug. She was the only one strong enough to put up with him." His eyes closed for a moment and laughed softly. "You think I'm stubborn?" His laugh faded as he realized once again his old friend was gone.

"You had to have picked it up somewhere." Doc knew it wasn't true but he needed something to bring Nelson back. He couldn't let him dwell on the death, not yet anyway.

Nelson nodded in agreement. "They were going to get married. He was 73 and she's 68. He always said he'd led a full life. He'd done everything, seen everything and when he got sick, he never feared dying. But when he met Kate Tannehill, well, he'd never admit it but he was as happy as he'd ever been." He leveled his unwavering gaze on Jamieson. "You'll let me tell her?"

Putting a reassuring hand on the Admiral's shoulder, Doc yielded. "I promise."

Smiling his thanks, Nelson closed his eyes and finally surrendered to sleep.

"I have a call into Dr. Haskins," Chip said, worried that he might have caused a problem. "What do you want me to do when I hear from him?"

"Tell him you'll have to call him back." Referring to Nelson, Jamieson said, "He'll probably be out for a few hours but once he wakes up, can you get in touch with Kate Tannehill and transfer the call here?"

"I'm sure Sparks can do it."

"Thanks, Chip." As the Lt. Commander exited, Doc stood at the foot of the bed and read over the notes on Nelson's chart, pausing to recall something the Admiral had said earlier.

_A full life._

The stories he heard about Andrew Kirkcastle, the stories he knew to be true about Nelson; different paths for two men who had made science their life's work, one having lived a full life, one, thankfully, still around to live a full life.

"You two could have been cut from the same mold," he said aloud, putting down the chart and heading for the door.

THE END


End file.
